Page 76 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

“Freaking Drex-iot ?” The words explode from me, my hands balling into fists. “You’re telling me Dracoth left that imbecile in charge while he’s off having himself a nice little psychedelic bubble bath ?”

My ears roar with the sound of my own pulse, drowning out whatever pathetic excuses Razgor is fumbling for.

“Um... he is an experienced—”

I’ve heard enough.

I storm out of the lab, silver mist fuming in my wake. The corridor looms before me, vast and endless, filled with space-knights milling about. They offer greetings and salutes, but I barely see them. My vision tunnels, my focus sharp as a blade.

My boots hammer against the polished floors, echoing my pounding heart.

Drexios?

Of all people?

That psychotic drug-addicted lunatic is in charge?

No. No way .

I can already picture it—him sprawled across the throne, pipe in hand, giggling to himself while the entire fleet burns around him.

Absolutely not.

I am putting a stop to this right now .

Time melts into nothing beneath the heat of my fury. Before I know it, the bleeding-eye emblazoned doors of the throne room loom before me.

I don’t hesitate.

I storm inside like a vengeful spirit coming to claim what is mine .

The guards along the walls snap to attention beneath the fluttering war banners, but I barely notice them.

My focus is locked on the massive, bone-infused throne at the center of the chamber.

Even the dazzling kaleidoscope of confetti-speed light streaming through the viewport fails to hold my attention as I march forward, each step a drumbeat of rising fury.

Then, that voice .

“Ah, Pinkie ,” the loathsome, cringe-inducing tone of Drexios echoes through the vast chamber. “I thought I could smell spoiled milk and regret.”

Laughter ripples through the chamber, and my skin prickles as if he’s dragged his claws across it.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to ignore the jeering. “Get the hell off my throne, you smelly doggie!”

I reach the base of the towering seat, glaring up at the rude prick lounging sideways, legs draped carelessly over the armrest. His smirk is nothing short of infuriating.

My throne. My rightful place.

Drexios stretches like a smug, overgrown cat, lacing his clawed fingers behind his head. “ Your throne?” He chuckles. “It’s too big for you.” His red eye gleams with mischief. “This is the War Chief’s seat, and he left me in charge.”

A yawn spills from his lips, exaggerated and slow. “But since you’re here, why don’t you entertain us with those shiny little barriers of yours?”

My lips curl into a smirk as heat rushes through my veins, filling me with raw, boiling fury. “You know, Drex-iot...” I raise my hands, reveling in the anticipation of crushing him into the disgusting pus-filled sandwich he longs to be. “That’s the second-best idea you’ve ever had.”

I reach for my barriers, prepared to summon the silver force that bends to my will—

But nothing happens.

My heart stutters.

I jerk my hands, fingers twitching in frustration. No, no, no. This should work. I feel the bond, the fire burning strong within me. My mercury inferno still roars. So why —

Then, the realization slams into me like an eviction notice.

Dracoth.

His side of the bond is weak—a crimson flame—just a sad, pitiful campfire. Good only for roasting marshmallows of disappointment.

He’s asleep. Or worse, still in the healing pod.

This is his fault!

“Aww, what’s the matter?” Drexios coos, voice thick with mockery.

My fists clench, nails biting into my palms. That prick knew this would happen. He knew.

“Has the little vipertail lost her barb?” He tuts, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “How very sad. And yet, I’m glad .” Then his smirk returns, wide and sharp.

He taps a gleaming claw against his eyepatch. “Uncle Drexios sees more than you think.”

My pulse pounds in my ears.

“You’d be nothing without the War Chief,” he continues, his voice turning low and smooth, like spoiled butter on brioche. “You’d do well to remember that, Pinkie .”

Sniggering hums around the chamber, but I barely hear it.

“Now,” he sighs, stretching again, “why don’t you toddle off and get some rest? Go lay your silly little head down, or do you need me to tuck you in nice and tight?”

I can’t breathe. I can’t think .

For the first time since my powers awoke, I feel helpless . My barriers—my divine gift—are useless without Dracoth’s flame to fuel them. I’ve become so accustomed to his intoxicating fury shimmering in the back of my mind, I assumed it would always be there. But now it’s dimmed, a mere crackle.

A sharp thwack against my forehead jolts me from my spiraling thoughts.

Something bounces off me, tumbling to the floor.

I blink.

Did... did this prick just throw something at me ? Me, the Divine Daughter, turned garbage bin? Everything goes silent and surreal as I bend down to collect the object he threw. I can’t believe it. Maybe I imagined it? Nope, it’s in my hands. What is it? The thing that dares mar my hallowed head?

I unfurl the crumpled piece of plastic.

A jelly stick wrapper.

The silence in my mind shatters.

Drexios grins down at me, lounging in my throne like a mental terrorist .

“It’s beddy-bye time,” he croons. “You’re distracting me.”

My entire body locks up, the rage so intense it feels like my skin might combust.

He did not just—

“A fucking jelly stick wrapper?!” My voice explodes through the chamber as I hurl it back at him. The useless thing flutters weakly in the air before floating pathetically back down to the floor.

Drexios howls with laughter.

“Are you. Fucking serious ?!”

I don’t think. I don’t care .

I launch myself up the throne, grabbing his armored leg and pulling with all my strength, determined to rip him from my seat. I can’t. I won’t take this disrespect, not from this prick. Not from anybody!

He doesn’t budge.

Drexios raises a single brow, looking down at me with amused disbelief. “What are you doing, you mad bitch?”

I growl, yanking harder.

He smirks. “Boys, help! I’ve caught a plump one over here.”

The jeers deepen, the air thick with their amusement.

My muscles burn, my breath ragged, but I refuse to let go. I can’t move him, can’t even shake him, but I’ll be damned if I let him win.

The laughter fades. Drexios exhales through his nose, his expression shifting as he reaches down and grabs my shoulders, his grip unyielding.

“Stop,” he says, his voice suddenly firm, the humor gone. “Before you hurt yourself.”

I freeze.

The anger simmers, the sheer absurdity of the situation settling in.

I’m panting, sweat clinging to my skin, fingers aching from the effort. And he’s just... sitting there.

Then, something behind him catches my eye.

The blue glow of the terminal screen pulses steadily. Little dots blink into existence, their rhythmic pinging cutting through my haze of fury.

A sinking feeling drags my stomach down to my boots.

“Uh...” My breath comes unsteady. “What do those blinky beeps mean?”

Drexios follows my gaze. His amusement fades, slow and knowing.

“It means,” he drawls, leaning forward in my throne, “ wakey-wakey time for the War Chief .”